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It’s not forever, right?
No, I’ve made up my mind.
There’s no way one more meeting with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Devilish can hurt. Especially if it involves me under him, discovering just how loudly he’ll make me scream.
For him, I want to sing.
I want to break.
And I want to leave us both in smoldering ruins.
4
Yellow Gold (Chris)
My last night in Syria wasn’t half as frustrating as this.
I stop halfway up the cliff, watching Princess Sweetass scouring the area around the bar for more miscellaneous beer bottles. I should have stayed and helped her longer, but then my dick never would’ve let me leave.
She’s a tiny silhouette in the low light, this night pixie.
How can a woman so small make my cock hammer like a jet engine?
Goddamn, I need to fuck this girl.
I need her so bad the next twenty-four hours until we meet again is guaranteed torture.
It’s barely been ten minutes and my brain won’t shut up, fixated on all the ways I’ll be in her soon, fisting those long, dark locks while I drink my fill of her lips.
I’m not a patient man, or generous, or even good when it comes to her.
My greedy ass wants it all.
Delia under me, up on all fours, sucking me off, riding me for dear life while I urge her on with harsh slaps on the ass.
I want her pulling lightning from my balls seven ways from Sunday.
Fuck.
It’s so vivid I can taste it.
I swear I didn’t show up on this beach shopping for fresh meat.
If I was that hellbent on getting pussy tonight, I could’ve just walked toward the fires and had my pick of the flirty college girls.
That’s not a brag. I just know my charms.
Women drop their panties in a heartbeat when you’re confident, built like a bull, and you know how to crack a joke.
And I’d have Delia’s lace panties stowed in my pocket already—or hell, stuffed in her mouth—if it hadn’t been for the goddamned phone.
Annoying.
Still, she’s worth a day’s torture.
I don’t want a random slut.
I wanther.
